A day in the life
by Against Fate
Summary: It's been two years since that day. He still remembered her scent as vividly as ever, the soft feel of her lips. Vigilantism and rememberance, that was his routine and he followed it religiously. Some days were bad, some uneventful, but he lived for those good days that would brighten his mood. T for some swearing and mild violence, that's how it works, right? Enjoy?


**A Day in the Life... _(Rewritten/Reviewed)_**

Two years.

Two goddamn years had passed since _that_ day.

In all that time, Kickass had managed to evolve from a skinny teenager with delusions of grandeur, fucked up nerve endings and an overboard dose of brick-headed heroism to an athletic youth with delusions of grandeur, fucked up nerve endings and an overboard dose of brick-headed heroism.

Well, to be fair, he did evolve into somewhat of a real "badass" and that was something he was proud of.  
Two years of training Mixed Martial Arts, Sambo and callisthenics coupled with an obnoxious amount of weightlifting and overall kicking ass in the streets day in and day out did that to you, eventually, no matter how much of a loser you were when you first began.  
But when it came to the hero part, he still felt himself quite beneath his real-life idols; Hit Girl and Big Daddy, bless his crazy soul.

And if I must be totally honest with you; He was.

Yup; Many of his nightly escapades had gone south and he'd managed to get himself badly hurt again and again… and yet again. Big Daddy's Kevlar armour had saved his ass from being "ass-kicked" to the hospital or worse, the morgue, on more than one occasion.

He was still slightly above a sloppy amateur when it came to stealthily approaching a back-alley drug deal and he was usually woefully uninformed to many underground happenings which he only learnt about in next day's news report; a hero who, for all his courage and ass kicking was way too slow to spot surveillance cameras and back up watchdogs, and hesitant to pull the trigger.

Oh, he had killed… you can't hope to change the world if you don't soil your hands with that particular shade of crimson, but he still despised playing god with a vengance, and that had cost him plenty of times.  
But at the end of the day, the streets were much cleaner and he had played a big part on that front.

However, with the D'Amico family still running things from the shadows and no possible way to hunt down the big bad shark, Ralph D'Amico who was still coped up in what Dave suspected to be _voluntary lockup_ , he was literally doomed to catching endless small fish in a way too big pond.

And he was just one fisherman braving the storm…

With a sigh and a silly tune playing in his head, Dave, exited the building, fully clad in his makeshift hero costume; A much improved version on his old sketchy one, mind you.  
Today he had decided to patrol the streets the "nostalgia way".

Plain daylight, -well, more like twilight- hi-fiving people and reminding the world with a smile and a wave that he was still out there: protecting them and grasping wherever the arm of the law couldn't or wouldn't reach…

It was, of course, risky, but cops had learnt to stay out of his way, eventually. Especially after he had saved some poor officers' asses from being riddled in bullets from head to toe in what he proudly considered the biggest solo achievement of his career (could you call vigilantism a career?) to date.

It had started off an aggressive drive-by that had ended in a car chase –not the Hollywood type, mind you, the b-rated movie one, where cheap budget and absence of filming permits only allowed for a couple of blocks of chase before it was over.  
Anyway, an eventual gunfire exchange in the wrong part of the neighbourhood had ensued and thus, reinforcements hit the blocks swiftly and angrily… for the wrong side.

Luck would have it, however, that Kickass was patrolling that particular neighbourhood that night. Upon hearing the ruckus he rushed in just in time to empty two magazines on the unsuspecting crooks surrounding the two patrol cars and then unleashed the fury of his "mighty batons" on the remaining goons as they scattered.

That particular event had managed to challenge the view of the media and people on vigilantism once again.

The official anti-superhero act was still in full effect, of course, you don't change laws that easily just because a deadly, buff, nerd clad in green saved some cops' lifes… Besides, the official story did not mention Kickass anywhere (god forbid he was facing some serious legal trouble if they did) but the Internet, king of the media, once again prevailed, when videos of the notorious vigilante delivering justice surfaced one after another.

After that, things just eased up on masked heroes once again and one or two brave costumed individuals would patrol the streets every night in the open.

Apart from the occasional routine checks and some "virtual arrests" happening routinely for the sake of appearances, nothing kept a ballsy wannabe caped crusader from going out comic-style anymore.

Nevertheless, few people were brave enough to go out serve their self-perceived notion of justice in a spandex costume after the events of two years ago, and Dave couldn't blame them one bit.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

As he waived and smiled down the street, his mind was elsewhere, accelerating miles and miles away.

Days like these, the days he would decide to shift back to the ways of old, he would start thinking of a certain blonde haired girl -or purple-head, depending on the context- her truck driver dialect, her green, almond-shaped eyes, and her soft, full lips.

Why did she have to leave? Why did she have to leave _like that_? Why did she have to leave after a _single kiss_? After her _first_ kiss?

Why wake up a beast you can't feed? Thirst you will never quench? He forced his mind to ease up on the metaphors a little. Mindy would've gifted him with a couple of hits to the face if she ever had access to his mind's wordplays and corny lines.  
Act like a bitch, get slapped like a bitch. That was her motto

But she wasn't here to hit him anymore. Just her taste remained, and on the bad days he couldn't even recall that, no matter how much he tried.

He'd tried to think logically. To rationalize; a parting gift, that's all it was, he'd guessed, but it had ended up being more of a wound than any other she had inflicted to him in their training…

 _Where in the world are you Mindy? Are you even okay? Are you still kicking ass? Do you ever think of me, even once in a while?_

He was abruptly brought back to this world by a young kid in his teens who was shaking his sleeve eagerly.  
He was obviously agitated, close to crying and he was waving his hand exaggeratedly as he talked.

"Kick Ass! Kick ass! Thank god you're here; they are going to fuckin' KILL him! Help him!"  
His mind was slow on processing the contents of that sentence. Kill.

He kneeled to eye the teenager "Calm down kid, tell me what's happening… and where!"

"There, in the alley, some guys have caught a homeless guy and they're hitting the crap outta him!"

That was as much as he needed to hear.

A couple of years ago he would have run towards the action in a straight line. Not anymore though, he'd learned. In the eventuality that this was a trap, he'd have to be craftier. But even when it wasn't, one against many wasn't the best option!

He looked upwards; the building was only four stories high.

A few running steps of approach he jumped and reached for the ladder belonging to an old fire escape and ran his way to the rooftops.

From his vantage point he clearly saw five skinheads bullying a homeless black guy, just as the kid had described. Seems the setup was legit, no trap, just some punks that needed a lesson.

He scoffed; they were hitting quite hard, taunting the poor man between every other hit, but no blunt weapon was out yet; he had time to make the entrance he had envisioned using for this kind of eventuality.

He knew this kind of lowlifes: intimidation was the best way to deal with them, besides he was in a weird mood today; might as well go full superhero-nerd on them.

 _"Theatricality and Deception are powerful agents against the uninitiated_ " He remembered the quote from The Dark Knight Rises with half a smile.

One thing was for sure… he would give them a lesson on theatricality to remember.

He attached his harness to his belt, secured the rope and got ready to make an entrance.

"Good evening, pussies!" He roared.

That caught the attention of the aggressors and they effectively stopped beating the poor guy.

"…It's kickass, let's get the fuck out of here Ray…" one of them said in a frightened voice, pulling his companion lightly.

"Pussies? Betcha wouldn't say that to our faces, kick-ed ASS" the buff guy who Dave supposed to be the leader of the sorry pack retorted, ignoring his comrade's frightened plea.

"What makes you believe that _, pussy number one_?" He chuckled behind the mask at his stupid taunting as he pointed his hand towards the guy who was apparently named Ray.

"Well, we are down here, and we are armed and you're up there playing tough, dressed like a fucking cosplayer… How about come down here to play, motherfucker?" Another one replied, gathering some courage from his "boss's" tough talk, but he had used the wrong word.

If Dave hated one insult more than anything else, that was the word _motherfucker._  
It tied to everything that had gone wrong with his life; the lunatic super-villain campaign, his dad's death, the reason Mindy was now a fugitive…

"Game's on, cocksuckers!" He used Mindy's usual catchphrase and with that, pulled out a couple of smoke bombs, courtesy of Big Daddy's not-so-shabby armoury, and threw them down the alley.

Seconds later, smoke filled the place and he descended rappel-style as fast as possible, before engaging the first victim, "pussy number three" going on by the numbers in his head, who was having a rather violent fit of cough at the moment.

What followed was a blur of smoke, blood and yells as he brutally dispatched four out of the five goons in a few seconds.

He'd left the leader of the pack alone, to slowly back off to a wall in a guarded stance, a penknife in his slightly trembling hand.  
With a few well placed hits in their strategic parts Kickass made the other motherfuckers scream.

As the smoke started to clear out and the guy named Ray stood petrified, against the wall.  
In front of him, his petty crew was totally torn apart; knifes stabbed into their respective hands and pants pulled down however Kickass was nowhere to be seen.

"Fuck you kickass! Fuck you and your hero complex! What do you care if we spare the world from one more of these Negro lowlifes? He is just a fucking hobo! The way I see it we're just doing the world a favour! Hell, we're doing HIM a favour. Fuck you man! Get the fuck away from here and leave us be."

Just as he finished the sentence a tazer projectile flew across the alley attaching itself right into the thug's balls.

"Wow, I've gotten better at using this shit" Dave murmured.

Ray just screamed and screamed in pure agony until Dave decided enough was enough.

"You know what… um… Ray? I wouldn't usually bother to do all this Avant Garde artistic nonsense" He signalled at the four bodies behind him and remnants of smoke.  
"But I was having a very weird day today and when I saw five pussies beating a helpless guy, thinking they are hot and all, _I knew_ I had to a little something special. Make them realise how pathetic they looked and all. Made me feel much better actually, thanks."

With that he grabbed Ray's face and penknife from the floor and squeezed his chin.

"Do you want me to make sure you never do something like this again? Do you want me to mark that ugly face of yours so that you never _ever_ get laid again? 'Cause I can do that, you know… No?" He tightened his grip and the man shook his head desperately.

"Then do yourself and the world a favour and go become a _real_ man. Because men don't gather in groups and pick up fights with people that haven't eaten for days…" He pointed at the homeless man, who was watching with a mixture of fear and excitement, and then towards the tazer still linked to his abused vulnerable parts  
"Consider _this,_ a second chance for what's left of your manhood, _pussy._ Next time I catch you out here doing shit like this you will be leaving feeling a bit _different_ down there"

With that, he stabbed the punk's hand with his own penknife.  
Ignored the yell of agony he went towards the homeless guy, who was trying to get up. He looked up at him and Kickass saw gratitude in the man's eyes.

"Thank you" He croaked meekly. "You saved my life"

"I guess I did." He turned around to leave but stopped suddenly; he put his hand in his "utility belt" and took out a small pack of money he'd gotten from some drug dealers that… well, wouldn't be looking for it any time soon to say the least.

It was about Three Thousand bucks. Not much in these days, but enough for a couple of hot meals and a small chance at a fresh start.

Better than nothing.

"Here. This is for the trouble you went through." He tossed the pack to the astounded man. "Just don't waste it man, I kicked some serious ass for this money"

With that he turned his back and walked away. The sobs of gratitude from the man overlapping the screams of agony of the crooks he had just laid waste to were the last things he heard before turning round the corner.

Today was a good day.


End file.
